Ностромо
Chapter 9
Thelightdisclosedhimstandingwithoutsupport,asifthemerepresenceofthatmanwhowasloyal,brave,incorruptible,whowasallhissonwouldhavebeen,wereenoughforthesupportofhisdecayingstrength.
Heextendedhishandgraspingthebriar-woodpipe,whosebowlwascharredontheedge,andknittedhisbushyeyebrowsheavilyatthelight.
“Youhavereturned,”hesaid,withshakydignity.“Ah!Verywell!I——”
Hebrokeoff.Nostromo,leaningbackagainstthetable,hisarmsfoldedonhisbreast,noddedathimslightly.
“YouthoughtIwasdrowned!No!Thebestdogoftherich,ofthearistocrats,ofthesefinemenwhocanonlytalkandbetraythepeople,isnotdeadyet.”
TheGaribaldino,motionless,seemedtodrinkinthesoundofthewell-knownvoice.Hisheadmovedslightlyonceasifinsignofapproval;butNostromosawclearlythattheoldmanunderstoodnothingofthewords.Therewasnoonetounderstand;noonehecouldtakeintotheconfidenceofDecoud’sfate,ofhisown,intothesecretofthesilver.Thatdoctorwasanenemyofthepeople—atempter....
OldGiorgio’sheavyframeshookfromheadtofootwiththeefforttoovercomehisemotionatthesightofthatman,whohadsharedtheintimaciesofhisdomesticlifeasthoughhehadbeenagrown-upson.
“Shebelievedyonwouldreturn,”hesaid,solemnly.
Nostromoraisedhishead.
“Shewasawisewoman.
